


the crash

by ponyponynay



Series: Visions [4]
Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 00:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16398062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponyponynay/pseuds/ponyponynay
Summary: He feels physically ill imagining his future without Timmy’s easy smile in it. The truth is, Timmy is everywhere in him. He’s spread all over Armie’s insides and even populated the memories from his childhood.Timmy is Armie and Armie is Timmy.





	the crash

**Author's Note:**

> this will only make sense if you read the previous parts! as usual, please take note of the time stamps.

 

 

 

**W** **ednesday, 01:37 a.m.**

  


Armie hasn’t managed to put his phone down since he left Timmy’s apartment. And he hasn’t managed to stop calling him. He knows Timmy won’t answer, but he keeps trying anyway.

 

He doesn’t actually know what he would say if Timmy did answer.

 

At this point, Armie knew he was running out of excuses. He feels himself at the end of a decaying rope. And it’s about to tear and drop him off into the deep end where Timmy doesn’t exist.

 

 _Where Timmy doesn’t exist_. Armie feels himself dying a little bit on the inside when he thinks that.

 

He feels physically ill imagining his future without Timmy’s easy smile in it. The truth is, Timmy is everywhere in him. He’s spread all over Armie’s insides and even populated the memories from his childhood.

 

Timmy is Armie and Armie is Timmy.

 

So what was going to happen if Timmy decided to walk away? Armie wasn’t sure. How do you extricate a part of yourself and continue on?

 

You fucking don’t.

 

That was the conclusion he came to. So Armie hits the call button again. Still no answer. So he tries just one more time. Perhaps it’s stupid to keep on trying knowing the outcome would be unsuccessful, but Armie is good at knocking on closed doors until they open. He’s built his career on that kind of persistence.

 

“Sir, I have to ask you to put your phone in airplane mode now. We’re gonna start taxiing,” a flight attendant says to him, and it’s fucking deja vu.

 

Except, it isn’t. He was just on another flight hours ago.

 

Armie nods, even tries to smile a little. Within seconds, the flight attendant is walking away. Armie uses that moment to try one last time before he really has to shut it off.

 

Still, there’s no answer.

  
  


 

 

**Wednesday, 3:44 a.m.**

 

The view out the letter-size window is pitch black, yielding no visual distraction for Armie. The occasional snores from passed out passengers and the deafening roar of the plane’s engine echo in the cabin. But they do nothing to help contain the jumbled noises inside Armie’s head.

 

The thoughts are his own vices to deal with.

 

Armie knows what needs to be done if he’s going to turn Timmy around, no matter how much it suits him to ignore it.

 

But the question has never been what. Rather, it was about whether or not Armie was willing to do it, was brave enough to challenge himself. Complacency is a tricky beast, habit is even trickier. Those things reel in even reckless monsters like Armie.

 

Perhaps, though, it’s not just complacency or habit that’s holding him back from what his heart longs for. Even now, Armie’s not willing to let his mind cycle that far, to reach into the deep hurt.  

 

Going there is a formidable challenge.

  
  


 

 

 

**Wednesday, 8:17 a.m. LA**

  


Armie walks in the front door to find everyone in the kitchen. Elizabeth was leaning against the kitchen island, busily tapping away on her phone while Martha, their part-time nanny, tended to the kids.

 

“Wild night last night?” Liz asks. She doesn’t even look. Armie swallows, his eyeballs spinning fast in search for smooth excuses.

“Nah. Poker and a movie. Shit was so boring I fell asleep,” he says, walking past her to get to the coffee machine. In truth, he’s trying to avoid eye contact, because his eyes can’t lie as well as his eyes do.

“Oh yeah? What was it?” She asks. She doesn’t sound particularly suspicious, nor curious for that matter. He can tell she’s just trying to make conversation.

“Shit. It was so boring I can’t even remember the title,” Armie says with a bit of a nervous laugh colored in.

 

Liz snickers, still not looking away from her phone. It’s still not clear if she actually wanted to know.

 

But Liz never wanted to know.

 

That had actually been one of Armie’s favorite things about Liz - her ability to ignore what didn’t suit her and look the other way. She was a big-picture kinda gal, never that concerned with little glitches especially if they didn’t mess with the grand scheme. It worked in Armie’s favor a lot, especially as of late as he tried to make more excuses to be away from home rendezvousing with Timmy somewhere.

 

Liz knew about the nature of Armie’s relationship with Timmy to some extent. The day after they got back from shooting _Call Me By Your Name_ , Armie had gotten fucked up drunk and told Liz he was in love with Timmy. Liz stroked his hair then and casually said, “You'll get over it.”

 

And it made a whole lot of fucking sense then.  

 

Of course Armie was gonna get over it. He had to. What other choice was there? Get a divorce, leave his family and go move in with a 22-year-old up-and-comer in his tiny New York apartment?

 

Liz didn’t say anything more then, and she didn’t have to. That’s how well she knew Armie. She knew that he’d be tripping over his own guilt without her help, and she also knew the thickness of the ropes of responsibility that have tied up Armie’s feet.

 

Liz never doubted that Armie would choose his family over Timmy. Whether she felt hurt by their affair -- however long or intense she thought it ever was -- was another matter, for which Armie has dealt with countless back-handed comments and forced behaviors as consequences.

 

If only she knew what a deep hole he and Timmy have managed to dig up. They’ve dug so far they could touch the core of this earth with their fingertips. And here they were finding themselves torn and burnt by its excruciating heat.

 

Armie never planned on falling so madly, hopelessly and endlessly in love with Timmy. But shit in life rarely goes as planned. In all honesty, as Liz said, promised, he had expected to get over it as the residues of Crema dissipated with time. Only, it fucking didn’t.

 

Crema was perfume. Its initial scent was strong and intoxicating, and the after-scent, calming and soothing. The tail end was supposed to be sweet and breezy, leaving behind a subtle after-scent for memory’s sake.

 

Armie waited for this cycle to play out, run through its course.  But he continues to find himself stuck at the initial stage. More than two years later, he was still losing himself over its initial intoxicating scent.

 

Perhaps perfumes change their character depending on who wears them. Maybe it wasn’t the perfume. Maybe it was the wearer.

 

Timmy.

 

Of course it’s Timmy. It was always Timmy. From the beginning to the eventual end, it was always Timmy.

 

Armie knew now, it had everything to do with who was wearing the perfume, and very little to do with the perfume itself.

 

His mind and body reek of that perfume, of Timmy’s scent. Soon, its depth and strength will surpass Liz’s seemingly infinite capacity to look away in the name of greater good. Or perhaps it has already. For a while, too.

 

Armie can feel a storm brewing, and all he wants right now is for it never to come.

 

Then again, shit rarely goes as he plans it.

  
  


 

 

 

**Wednesday, 10:02 a.m.**

  


Holed up in his study, Armie stares intently into his phone. Martha’s got the kids and Liz went off somewhere; he doesn’t know. She did actually mention where, but Armie wasn’t listening.

 

The moment he heard the garage door shut, he’d literally run off to his study, where his phone was plugged in, to call Timmy.

 

Of course, there was no answer. Armie wasn’t even surprised this time.

 

He switches gears and begins to type furiously, saying anything and everything. He was on a roller coaster ride, traveling through a spectrum of emotions ranging from fucking angry to fucking sad. But such a spectrum was still deeply rooted in a common ground — desperation and fear.

 

Fear of losing Timmy.

 

He’s already sent Timmy a thousand text messages, none of them replied to. The content of the series of text messages he’s sent can only be described as a little bit insane.

 

Out of pure desperation, he sets fire.

 

[ i’ll get a divorce ]

  
  


**Following Monday, 1:57 p.m.**

  


As Armie packs for his getaway to France with Timmy, his mom calls. He stares at his buzzing screen for a good 10 seconds before finally sighing and deciding to pick up. Conversations with his mother always end in unhealthy doses of self-loathing. She’s always been expert at pointing out all the different ways he should feel bad about himself.

 

“Hi, ma.” Armie’s eyes are already rolling as he says that.

[ Hi, dear. Quick question, hiking shoes or no hiking shoes? ]

 

Her high-pitched tone rings in his right-side ear. He’s puzzled by her sudden question that seems to lack any context.

 

“Huh?” he replies.

[ We’re packing for the weekend and we’re wondering if we’ll have time for a quick hike somewhere nearby. ]

“Wait, what? You guys are coming here?”

[ No, silly. In Texas! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the get-together. ]

“What get-together?”

 

She’s happy to remind him, but with as much disdain as she can possibly muster up. Liz had planned this whole weekend, and there’s no way Armie couldn’t have known about it, she says. It’s going to be a huge family get-together in Texas with all of Liz’s family and his. Even his brother was going to make a trek for it, didn’t he know?

 

“How did all of this happen without me knowing?” Armie asks, exasperated.

[ Well, if you were more involved at home, you’d have known these things.]

 

Armie feels his chest sink. The thought of Timmy flashes through his head. And their trip to Paris, which is supposed to be in two days.

 

Fuck.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

**Friday, 5:23 p.m.**

  


Armie stands in his backyard, pressing the call button for the 18th time this evening. He cusses out loud, but his words disappear into thin air. At any moment now, he’s going to combust and his torn pieces will scatter all over the yard.

  
  


Armie is fucking fuming. He wants to scream, break things and hurt someone -- maybe himself. But he does none of those things. The only reason he’s holding back is his children, who are in the living room. He’s in their line of sight.

 

But he won’t be able to hold back much longer if he doesn’t find out where Timmy is soon.

 

Timmy had gone off the grid. Armie hadn’t been able to reach Timmy since Monday. After the heated phone call during which Armie had canceled yet another trip together, his calls kept going straight to voicemail. Armie had assumed Timmy had blocked his number, so he called with the house phone, then borrowed Nick’s phone. Those all went straight to voicemail too. He event went to a payphone to call and it didn’t go through.

 

He tried to book another flight to New York, but he knew, he couldn’t possibly pull another stunt like that without causing a shit storm on both ends.

 

Two days of utter hell later, on Wednesday, Armie got a call from Brian saying Timmy had tossed his phone and flew off to god-knows-where. Since then, he and Brian had been chasing leads to find out Timmy’s whereabouts. So far, they weren’t so successful.

 

As Armie begins to dial Brian again, the sliding glass door opens behind him. It’s Liz.

 

“What’s wrong, babe?” she asks.

 

She comes closer, throws a hand gently over Armie’s left shoulder. He looks back for a second only to turn his attention back to his phone.

 

“Nothing. I’m… it’s fine,” he says, still preoccupied.

“It’s clearly not fine. Talk to me,” she pulls closer and rests her chin on Armie’s shoulder, her gaze landing on his phone.

 

Armie swallows hard. He doesn’t know for how much longer he can keep this up.

 

“It’s… Timmy,” he says. “He’s not answering his phone. I think he’s gone missing.”

“Holy shit! Have you called Brian?” There’s genuine shock in Liz’s voice. Still not looking directly at her, Armie nods.

 

This is the part where Armie decides he just can’t anymore.

 

“Yeah, I did. Brian can’t reach him either. It’s… it’s my fault, Liz. Timmy and I…”

 

Liz stiffens, staring dead into his eyes. Her arm drops from Armie’s shoulder, and her eyes say, stop it.

 

“Don’t. Not now.”

“But Liz, I…”

“I said don’t.”

“I can’t hold it in anymore. It’s not fair to you either. We can’t keep stepping around this issue forever, Liz.”

 

Armie is visibly frustrated. But that pales in comparison to Liz’s visible anger.

 

“No, don’t. I’m being serious right now. Just don’t,” she says, trying her best to keep calm. “Now, I’m going to pretend like nothing ever happened and you never said anything. Get your shit together and don’t come back inside until you’re certain you can keep your mouth shut.”

 

She finishes her speech, then quickly disappears through the door. That left Armie speechless. She had her ways of shutting him up.

 

He’s spacing out, staring at the sliding glass door that Liz just went through when his phone rings briefly. It’s a text message.

 

He looks down to see that Brian has sent a photo.

 

It’s a screenshot of Twitter. Someone’s posted a photo of Timmy, over some guy’s shoulder. The caption reads, “I saw Timothee Chalamet in Paris! He’s at this club getting fucked up with this other dude. His eyes look messed up! How much do you think the paparazzis will pay for this? I got worse. MUCH worse.”

 

Timmy knows exactly how to hurt Armie. It’s by hurting himself, being careless and indulgent in the things that make him sick and powerless. Armie has done his fair share of hard drugs as a young actor, but stopped not only because he became a family man but also because he had a moment of realization that the world was full of dangerous people who took advantage of you when you have completely succumbed to the effects of drugs.

 

He and Timmy smoked weed together quite a bit, and did the occasional molly, but strictly I’m safe environments where shut really could not go wrong. But he hated it when Timmy would indulge further, especially in unknown spaces and when he wasn’t around. Timmy doesn’t realize how fucking beautiful he is, and how predators are lurking in all corners of the room waiting patiently for him to lose just a bit more control.

 

Armie could only think Timmy was doing this on purpose. Timmy was not a fucking child. He knows the risks of letting go out in the open. Some random club in Paris was not the safe environment of the closed doors in which they indulged together. Timmy was out there looking to get hurt, to be used by a nameless, faceless person, because he knew.

 

That was the fastest way to break Armie’s heart. To get at him for breaking his own.

  
  
  
  


 

 

**Friday, 8:50 p.m.**

  


Armie suddenly wakes from his daydreaming when the phone in his hand starts to buzz. It’s an incoming call from Brian. He rushes inside to find private space.

 

[ I’ve found where he’s staying and got his room number. I tried to call, but he won’t answer. I thought you might look to try. ]

 

Within seconds of hanging up his call with Brian, Armie is dialing that number. He breathes loudly as though he’s trying to gather his calm as the line connects.

 

[ Uh, hellooooo. Who is this? ]

 

It’s Timmy. He’s answered.

 

Armie can feel how fucked up wasted and high Timmy is through the phone. He feels pure anger rush up into his brain, and he feels like he needs to scream into the phone, but he also knows that’ll get him nowhere with Timmy. As he’s collecting his thoughts, he also realizes Timmy is not alone. He can hear bustling and mumbling of another person in the room.

 

“Timmy, it’s me.”

[ Oh. ]

 

Timmy’s tone is so matter-of-fact. It sounds as though he’s expected a call like this to happen sooner or later.

 

Armie can hear his heart breaking into bits. He needs to say something, but he doesn’t know quite what to say, where to start.

 

“What… What are you doing?”

 

Timmy laughs at that question. He doesn’t sound like himself. He’s clearly under the influence of something very fierce.

 

[ The question isn’t _what_ I’m doing but _who_.]

 

Armie hears Timmy giggling over the phone, and the giggles of another man in the background. He can feel his blood boil. The scene in front of his eyes has turned dark red. He feels his chest sink and breath get tighter.

 

[ What’s your name again? ] Timmy says, his voice sounding like it’s away from the receiver. A strange man’s voice answers, “Alex”.

[ Alex, he says. That’s who. ]

 

Armie bites his lip hard.

 

“Timmy, what are you on right now?” he asks calmly.

[ Oh, I don’t know. Lots of things. _Ow_! You gotta be more gentle! It hurts. ]

 

Timmy is distracted, Armie can hear. He can’t help but notice the sexual nuance of Timmy’s distraction. He feels the urge to scream, but he tries to keep calm; he decides he needs to convince Timmy to get himself out of that situation.

 

[ Look, I gotta go. I’m actually quite busy. Mmmmmm….]

 

But then he hears Timmy moan into the receiver, and all hell breaks loose inside of him. He’s usually the one responsible for causing it.

 

Seconds later, the line’s disconnected. Armie punches the wall.

  
  
  
  


 

 

**Friday, 8:55 p.m.**

 

Armie rushes into his bedroom, picks up his travel bag he’d readied up for his Texas trip, and rushes back out. His vision is blurry and head, jumbled. His fist is bleeding but he can’t feel any pain.

 

Hearing the thuds caused by his stomping in the house, Liz intercepts. Seeing that he’s grabbed his travel bag, she follows him around, screaming colorful obscenities.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Elizabeth spits fire. But Armies head is too jumbled to be affected by her wrath.

“Paris,” he replies, not looking.

 

“Are you out of your mind?” she asks, standing in his way and looking straight up at him.

“Yes, get out of the way.”

 

Liz looks dumbfounded by this point.

“Is this for real? I feel like I’m dreaming. This can’t be happening.”

“But it is,” Armie says, sighing loudly. Seeing how confused she is, his face softens a bit. “I’m sorry. I just… I need to go. Right now.”

 

But Liz doesn’t look like she’s willing to clear the path. Armie knows she’s going to make this as difficult as possible. He doesn’t know if it’s the anger or the sadness that’s pushing him to make the leap at this very moment, but he knows that he’s got to do it. Otherwise, Timmy was going to be gone from his reach forever.

 

“Think very carefully about what you’re trying to do,” Liz says firmly. “You’re playing with fire, Armand. I’ve looked the other way for two years but this is crossing the line.”

“It’s funny you think this is crossing the line. I’ve crossed the line a long time ago. I love him, Liz. And I need to go.”

 

She says more things, but all of it’s a blur. Armie can’t hear over the sound of his own thoughts blaring in his head. He gently pushes her shoulder to the side, and she stumbles. He rushes past her quickly, so quick that even when Liz reaches out her arm to grab him, it doesn’t quite reach him.

 

When he walks out the door and throws his bag in the SUV, he does hear her last sentence.

 

“If you drive away right now, that’s the end. You’re never coming back.”

 

Armie stops for a second.

 

“There will be no us. No family. The end.”

 

He gets in his car anyway.

  
  
  
  


 

 

**Saturday, 6:13 a.m. Los Angeles International Airport**

  


Armie wakes at the sound of someone calling his name. He hadn’t realized that he’d dozed off, but his name was being shouted out on the PA system.

 

It’s saying he’s secured a seat after being on standby all night.

 

“Mr. Hammer?”

 

A lady in uniform approaches him and asks. He nods.

 

“We’ve found you a seat. You best get on now.”

 

He shoots up from his seat and grabs his bag.

 

In the minutes between having sat down and being told to put his phone into airplane mode, he calls Brian.

 

“I’m on. Taking off in a few. Any word on your end?”

[ no but shit is all over Twitter. We’re handling it, but probably not all. ]

“Do better. At least until I get there.”

[ I’m trying, Armie. ]

“I know, man… I didn’t mean to make it sound like you weren’t.”

[ I know… just… make sure the kid doesn’t— ]

 

Armie knows what Brian is trying to say. But he can’t hear it. If he does, he will die of guilt before he ever reaches Amsterdam. Wouldn’t that be an oxymoron.

 

“Just… send me the address again just in case. And make sure they’re watching him.”

[ I will. I really appreciate you doing this… it’s… I’m… ]

“I’m not doing this for you.”

 

“Sir, we’re gonna start taxiing now. You need to shut your phone off.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Sorry. Bri, I gotta go. Don’t forget to send me everything. Address, phone, whatever else you got. Just everything.”

[ I will. ]

 

Before switching his phone to airplane mode, he takes one last good look at the series of photos sent to him by Brian. They’re hard to look at, Armie has to try not to punch and break everything in front of him.

 

He can feel a part of his soul blackening from the thoughts of murder in his head. Not of Timmy, but of those who touched him.

 

Armie has summoned every last inch of control he’s got within himself not to break down and wreak havoc. He feels an insane rush of possessiveness, jealousy and a sense of betrayal cycle through his mind. He knows he’s not entitled to any of those feelings, but he can’t help that they populate his heart.

 

And how could Timmy do this to him? Timmy used to always whisper in his ear, especially during sex, “There’s no one else but you. You’re it for me.” In hindsight, perhaps that had only been an attempt at a guilt trip, a pointed statement intended to remind Armie how Timmy wasn’t his one and only. Even if it were so, Armie couldn’t blame.

 

Because it was true. Timmy wasn’t Armie’s one and only. And that wrecked Timmy, tore him apart into pieces so small he could vanish into thin air.

 

At this point, anger has passed and sadness has kicked in.

 

Armie wants to kneel down and cry, beg. But he doesn’t. He releases a heavy sigh instead.

 

He just needs Timmy to be okay.

  
  
  


 

 

 

**Sunday, 3:04 p.m., Paris**

  


Armie takes deep breaths, so deep the mirrors inside the elevator start to fog up. It’s a blessing no one else is in here. Otherwise, other people would also have to soak in the steam coming out of Armie’s ears. He’s pent up, ready to spit fire. But he knows he has to be much calmer by the time this elevator stops on the 18th floor.

 

He hasn’t managed it, though. When he arrives, he’s still fuming. And his footsteps are so heavy they seem to shake the building.

 

1804.

 

Armie arrives at his destination. He takes another long and deep breath before he can muster up the courage to knock.

 

When he finally does, he has to exercise extra care not to bang down the door on the first try.

 

He knocks once, no answer. So he knocks twice, no answer. The number of individual knocks multiply by the set, and each time, an exponential amount of force is added to the friction between Armie’s knuckles and the wooden door.

 

Armie is full on screaming by minute three. “Open the fucking door, Tim!”

 

He can hear talking inside, and that infuriates him more. There’s another person there, and Armie is already plotting his murder.

 

But by this point, he’s starting to think knocking isn’t going to cut it. So he begins checking the door full on with his shoulder. It’s not working very well — it’s a pretty sturdy door. He can feel the screws loosen a bit, but that’s about it. He pushes harder and harder, but when it becomes clearly that’s not going to cut it either, he summons a beastly strength he didn’t know he was capable of.

 

Armie takes three steps back, until his back is touching the wall behind him. Then he charges, as he’d seen and acted in movies. The climax of the charge involves Armie’s right foot making contact with the door and a thud loud enough to be heard in the next building over.

 

The door separates from its frame and crashes down to the floor on the other side. Its collapse reveals the interior of the room, and a naked figure occupying it.

 

It’s not Timmy.

 

Armie is petrified, but soon, he realizes there’s a room inside a room. Another door separates it, and that one is cracked. Through that crack Armie can see the familiar curly head half way buried in sheets.

 

Armie walks up to the naked stranger.

 

“Get the fuck out,” he quietly murmurs. He doesn’t execute his murder plot. Not just yet.

 

Then he takes big and loud steps toward his Timmmy, kicking another door in the process.

 

“Get up. We’re leaving.”

“You broke down my fucking door.”

“I had no fucking choice seeing as you won’t let me in. And it’s not your door. It’s the hotel’s.”

“Well, when someone locks you out that probably means you’re not fucking welcome!”

 

Timmy’s tone rises in the heat of the moment. Armie looks back over his left shoulder as to make sure no one was around to eavesdrop.

 

“Lower your voice. You’re causing a scene.”

“I’m causing a scene? You just broke down my fucking door!”

“I said keep your voice down. Unless you want the whole building to know about our business.”

“Well, that’s always the fucking problem, isn’t it? Other people knowing about our business. You know, this would all be solved if you would just fucking leave. Then nobody has to hear about it ever again!”

“Fuck, Timmy! Just… fuck!”

“Really, just fucking leave.”

 

Timmy looks exasperated, and Armie finds a bit of calm in himself at that look of exasperation. He wants more than anything to convince Timmy.

 

“I don’t understand,” Armie says, his eyes bloodshot. “Why are you pushing me away like this? Help me out here. This is all just happening so quickly, so out of nowhere.”

“I guess that’s what it must feel like if you choose to ignore all the fucking time.”

“Tim, I’m not a fucking mind reader. You hadn’t exactly been super clear about what it is you wanted from me. Now I know, and I’m saying I’m working on it, but you just won’t be patient.”

 

Timmy seems totally baffled at that statement.

 

“Patient?” he asks, exasperation embedded in the word in the form of a heavy snicker. “Are you fucking joking? You don’t think two years is enough? Are you really asking me to be patient?”

“Yes! Fuck! You couldn’t just be fucking patient while I figured shit out. You had to go out there and fucking whore yourself out just to get at me. Well, congratulations. You got me good. Is this what you fucking wanted?”

 

Armie regrets almost as soon as he’s done talking. Timmy’s eyes are welling up, and his shoulders are shaking from how fucking angry he is. For a moment, Armie considers stepping forward to hold him, but he can’t, because Timmy’s gotten up to his face and begun screaming.

 

“Don’t even. Don’t even fucking go there. Don’t you fucking dare! You have no fucking right! Don’t fucking pretend you were actually out there trying to figure shit out when you’re going on a family trip instead! That’s not what people who are trying to get a divorce do! Go on fucking trips together! How can you say you’re figuring shit out when the other person is all over Instagram bragging about the wonderful family vacation they’re going on with you? Fuck you, Armie.”

 

Armie doesn’t have a comeback for this one, because Timmy is right. Timmy was always right, no matter how much Armie tried to justify himself, saying things like “it’s easier said than done”.

Timmy is not done fuming.

 

“Don’t you fucking call me a whore when you’re the one going to bed with somebody else every fucking night. Don’t you fucking dare!”

 

Then Timmy shoves him hard with both hands. Armie stands there, takes it, his anger turned to sorrow.

 

“Timmy… I… Timmy, I’m sorry,” Armie says, his lips shaking uncontrollably. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to call you a whore. It’s not what I was saying. It came out wrong… I’m just upset. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you… I know I’m being hypocritical, but that’s what being with you makes me. I can’t stand by my own beliefs anymore. I lose all control when it concerns you…”

“Fuck you, Armie… Fuck you!”

“Timmy… babe… I love you. I love you so fucking much I don’t even know what to do with myself. Please just come here… please. I need… I need you.”

“I love you. But I don’t want to anymore.”

 

Timmy begins to sob loudly. Armie extends his arm to pull him in, but Timmy shakes him off. Armie can’t handle that, so he forcibly grabs Timmy by the arm, drags him toward himself. Timmy does everything to resist, hits Armie in the chest repeatedly and pushes him. But Armie doesn’t budge. He grabs Timmy by the shoulder and shakes him, and Timmy starts to sob even louder.

 

Timmy’s legs fail him in that moment. He crashes down, and Armie catches him. Armie pulls him into his arms and Timmy’s sobbing uncontrollably. Armie’s vision becomes blurry from his tears.

 

“Let’s get out of here. Please,” he whispers to Timmy, his tone desperate. Timmy nods.

  



End file.
